


Films About Ghosts

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Community: numb3rsflashfic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 14:23:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post-"Hot Shot." <em>Something was coming.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Films About Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Charlie, Don, and Numb3rs belong to Cheryl Heuton, Nicolas Falacci, and some people at CBS who aren't me.
> 
> This story was first posted February 13, 2007.

It had been a few weeks since his mother--since Charlie had dreamed of his mother for the first time since her death. Don was back to work and Charlie had had cold cereal for breakfast, and there was no reason for him to be thinking of it, of her. But he was.

More than thinking of it. Feeling it. The sky was clear, the air hot and dry even halfway through the morning, but Charlie's skin prickled with energy, like he was standing in the path of a thunderstorm. Something was coming.

He went out to the garage, where he had last--last _dreamt_ of her--to try to work. He flipped on the light and froze--there was something--someone--

Charlie blinked, and the pale shape resolved itself into the neighbors' Persian cat, curled up in his papasan chair. Charlie ran a hand through his hair, half-expecting it to crackle with static electricity though it flowed normally over his fingers. He was working himself up over nothing; it was just a summer day, just a cat. Just a dream.

He walked over, reaching out to pet the cat. "Here, kitty."

He'd never managed to learn the cat's name, or for that matter the neighbors'. He hadn't quite made contact when the cat sprang to its feet. Its blue eyes went wide, fur fluffing out as its back arched, teeth bared and tail erect. Charlie froze, and it lashed its tail once and then bolted past him, a ghostly streak across the floor and then gone.

Charlie sighed. "Pull it _together_, Eppes." A cat, a funny feeling, a dream. This was ridiculous. Next he'd be pulling out a ouija board.

Charlie stood and went to the makeshift table in the middle of the garage--plywood and sawhorses, loaded down with stacks of books and his third-best laptop. Charlie switched on the computer and headed for the chalkboard, but as he reached toward the chalk tray, all the chalk _jumped_, rattling. Charlie stared down at it, then turned. The screen of the computer flickered, and all the books jumped, once, twice, and then the top book on a stack went flying, hitting the wall with a smack that echoed in the silence after.

Charlie felt as paralyzed as he had when he was a little boy and his mother yelled at him; he'd so rarely seen her angry, it never failed to stop him in his tracks. He whispered, "Mom?" into the stillness, terrified and hopeful all at once.

Then the whole _table_ jumped and the chalkboards shook and Charlie grabbed the laptop and bolted just like the cat. Unlike the cat, he stopped in the doorway, bracing himself against it, clutching the laptop and shutting his eyes as the whole world shook. Not a ghost. An _earthquake_.

Charlie gritted his teeth and told himself the sinking feeling was anything but disappointment.

His phone rang almost before the shaking stopped, and Charlie sank down to sit in the doorway as he pulled it out of his pocket. "Hello?"

"Charlie?" Don's voice sounded urgent, worried, and Charlie realized his voice had come out strangely. "Buddy, you all right? Was it bad there?"

Charlie looked toward the house. "I think the power's out," he said slowly. The laptop was humming away on battery life, whirring warmly against his chest.

"Charlie?" Don repeated, louder. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Don," Charlie said, and he was fine, he _was_, it was just a quake and he'd been in them all his life, and it wasn't the quake that left him sitting on the ground shivering. "I'm just--"

As he said it, he heard his mother saying it, saw the wry smile on her face, answering the phone as soon as the shaking stopped--Dad or Don on the line, asking the same old questions, _Was it bad there? Are you okay?_\--and she always smiled and rolled her eyes at Charlie and said the same old thing: _We're fine, dear, just_\--

"Just shaken up."

When Don said, "Okay, yeah, us too," there was a smile in his voice--relief that carried right through the phone, and Charlie felt himself smiling his mother's smile after all.


End file.
